


Classicverse 1.6: To the Ends of the Earth

by Elspethdixon, Seanchai



Series: Classicverse [6]
Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 02:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elspethdixon/pseuds/Elspethdixon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanchai/pseuds/Seanchai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finally comes face to face with Baron Zemo. Also, there are ants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [На край света](https://archiveofourown.org/works/770257) by [ComradeSoapySoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComradeSoapySoot/pseuds/ComradeSoapySoot)



Amora was certain that she had never hated any place as much as she hated Midgard. It was ugly and dirty, like the dwelling places of giants and trolls, and not one of the individuals this mortal city teemed with had shown her the slightest fraction of the respect owed to Asgard's mightiest sorceress.

It had been a full month now, and she was no closer to locating and waking Loki or returning to Valhalla.

Even her plan to sway Thor to her side had failed. She had hoped to convince him of the value of her company once his mortal friends were dead, but they were all still irritatingly alive. Somehow, they had managed to break her spell's hold over him before he could so much as kill one of them.

They were the reason Thor wanted nothing to do with her. It was the only explanation that held any reason. If events were left to their natural course, Thor would of a certain find himself irresistibly drawn to Amora, the only other Asgardian on Midgard, the only one who of his own kind. But instead, he consorted with these Avengers, and hid himself in the form of a lowly human doctor.

Odin might have bound Thor to mortal form initially, but it was his choice to spend _so much_ of his time that way.

She was beginning to suspect that not only did Thor have an unnatural liking for mortals, he even enjoyed playing at being one. The Avengers must have some strange hold over him, to seduce him away from his own people so thoroughly.

But like all forms of magical compulsion, it would vanish if she could but rid them both of those responsible for it.

Hence, her current journey to South America. Amora had learned through various sorcerous divinations of a mortal warlord of great age and cunning whose citadel was located deep within the jungles of the southern continent. The idea of a reputation for cunning and spite combined with age reminded her unpleasantly of Odin, grey-bearded deceiver that he was, but desperate circumstances called for desperate measures.

She, the Enchantress of Asgard, who had once commanded all of the magics of the Norns, was reduced to asking a mortal man for assistance.

Her magic had been too weakened to transport her to Vespugia instantly, so she had been forced to suffer the indignity of human air travel. The seat she had had reserved for herself may have been what mortals considered "first class," but it could in no way compete with the comforts of Asgard.

She was forced to switch to a smaller and even less pleasant flying conveyance in Brazil, and then had to spend several hours more in jolting, confining misery before the mortal machine finally landed in Zemo's citadel.

The Vespugian border guards at the airport were most happy to give her transport to Zemo's stronghold, and naturally, she had no problem gaining entrance. The guards at the door came to attention sharply when she approached, and it took little effort, even with her reduced powers, to induce them to escort her inside.

Heinrich von Zemo, El President of Vespugia and the twelfth Baron Zemo, might have been a fearsome warrior in previous days, but he was less than impressive now.

He was withered and stooped with age, his thinning hair pure white, and the hands that had once killed hundreds of men were shriveled into bony claws, joints thickened with age. But his eyes still held the malice and dark intelligence of the man he'd been.

As soon as she looked into their depths, Amora knew she had come to the right man. Evil men were as every bit as easy to manipulate as good men -- and the closer to either extreme they fell, the easier said manipulation was.

"Who are you?" he demanded. He spoke German, with a distinct Northern accent. When she didn't respond immediately, he repeated himself in Spanish. "Who are you, woman? How did you get in here?"

Amora drew herself up to her full height, tall enough to look him directly in the eye. "I am no mere woman," she proclaimed. "I have access to powers greater than any your mortal mind can conceive of. You may call me," she paused a fraction of a second to let the proper attitude of anticipation build, "the Enchantress."

"I do not care what you call yourself," he snapped. "How did you get past my guards?"

"Bending ignorant mortals to my will is as nothing to one as powerful as I." Amora smiled at him calmly. He was no doubt armed, but mortal weapons were of no concern to her.

Zemo's eyes narrowed. His right hand hovered near his belt; perhaps that was where his weapon was. "Has that arrogant schwienhund from Latveria sent you? He will get his next shipment of adamantium when I am prepared to send it to him, and not a day earlier."

Amora frowned, putting her hands on her hips. This was not proceeding quite in the fashion she had anticipated. "No mortal commands the Enchantress," she informed him. She let the faintest whisper of a spell color the air around them, such that he would see her with the admiration she was due. "It matters not where I come from. What matter is what I have come to offer you."

Zemo seated himself in the dark leather chair behind his desk, his hands folded in front of him, and regarded her with a slight smile on his ancient face. "Go on," he said. "I am... most interested in hearing what you have to offer."

  


***

  
Heinrich Zemo was still alive. He had never been captured, never been tried, never been brought to justice.

Steve could still remember the way his eyes had gleamed when he'd smugly informed them of his plans to blow up the Allied headquarters in England, still see him tapping his swagger stick against his thigh while he sneered at Steve and Bucky ("Is this the best America can do? Inexperienced youths and fools in flashy costumes?").

Bucky had grinned and said that Sergeant York was busy, so they'd had to come instead, and Steve's costume was pretty flashy, wasn't it?

It was the last joke he remembered Bucky making, and that was all down to Zemo.

Zemo hadn't succeeded in destroying the Allied command, but he'd managed to effectively destroy Steve's life. A vastly smaller victory than he'd planned, but for all the death Steve had seen during the war, Bucky's face staring down at him from that plane was the one that haunted him the most.

It wasn't the only one, though. Men under Zemo's command had captured a cell of French guerillas Steve had been working with and executed them all. Several of them had very obvious been tortured before they'd been lined up and shot. Jim Hammond, an android who'd operated under the code name "Human Torch," had been the one to find the bodies. He had stared at Steve over the corpse of a middle-aged man who was missing all of the fingers on his right hand and said, quietly, "If this is what men are capable of, I'm glad I'm not really human."

It wasn't the worst example of brutality Steve had seen, but the men who had been responsible for Buchenwald had been brought to justice. Zemo had been free all these years, untouched, almost certainly continuing to spread his evil wherever he went.

He had arranged the death of an innocent man over something as minor as a trade agreement. And he had tried to have Steve's teammates killed.

The Avengers were all Steve had. He had no family, now that Bucky was gone, and other than Nick and Dugan, all of his old friends were dead. Without Tony, Thor, Jan, Hank, and Jarvis, he would have been entirely alone. Without them, he would still have been in the ice.

Sometimes, when he woke in the middle of the night, Steve could still feel the cold weight of the ice around him. He wasn't looking forward to winter.

The dreams that were just about the ice were better than the others, though. In those dreams, it was just Steve, slowly being crushed by a vast, frozen weight. In the bad dreams, he saw Bucky die again and again. In the really bad ones, it wasn't just Bucky.

Steve sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at his bare feet. The Mansion was still and silent, except for the sound of his breathing; not surprising, considering that it was nearly three in the morning. He had given up on sleep an hour ago, after waking up from the latest one. This time, it had been the Ardennes, he and Bucky walking through ankle deep snow to identify the bodies of American troops. Steve had knelt by a man lying face down, and reached to turn him over. He had had to pull hard, the man's body coming free of the earth with a crackling sound, clothing frozen to the ground by his own blood.

When the corpse had finally come free and Steve had been able to roll him face up, he had found himself looking down at Hank Pym's face, his blond hair turned into stiff pink spikes by bloody ice.

Steve had looked up, away from Hank's body, to see Jan lying a few feet away, face up, her eyes frozen open.

Thor had been lying just beyond her, as cold and dead as she was. Next to him was Tony, his hair startlingly black against the snow and the bloodless blue-white of his skin.

From there, things had suddenly jumped, with the illogic of dreams, to the airplane again, and once again Bucky's face had stared down at him from the plane's wing for a brief moment before the fireball had turned everything into heat and light.

Steve twisted his left foot slightly, watching as his toes sunk into the deep pile of the carpet. The soldier with the frozen blood in his hair hadn't been Hank, none of the mutilated bodies he and Bucky had helped the Army photographers capture on film as evidence of German war crimes had been men he had really known. One or two faces had been vaguely familiar, but they had been a different unit from the one he had fought with, and he'd only known them in the most general of senses.

He’d had dreams before, but the sharp reality of the ones from the last few nights had been different. If Steve let himself think about it at all, he could still almost catch the peculiar scent of the dense pine forest almost covering the smell of blood, could almost taste the gunpowder hanging in the air.

The bed creaked quietly under him, and Steve ran a hand through his hair, before dropping it to rest lightly on his knee, letting out a slightly shaky sigh. He had been sitting here for an hour, and memory had finally started to lose some of its immediacy. It was finally starting to feel like something that had happened months ago, rather than something that was still happening now, something that could happen again. He could still remember exactly what the last words Bucky had said to him were, remember the exact expression on his face in those last seconds, but the feeling of ice crunching under his knees as he knelt by those bodies had faded.

Learning that Zemo was still out there had brought it all back.

Steve dropped his head into his hands again, and sighed. His hair was too long; he could feel it tangling around his fingers. His last haircut had been in France. Bucky would make fun of--

No. He wouldn't.

Zemo had killed him. Zemo, who had somehow survived all of these long years while nearly everyone else Steve had known grew old and died. Zemo, who had helped frame Tony and sent assassins after Steve and tried to kill Steve's team.

If those gunmen outside the SHIELD barbershop had been a little luckier, Steve would have lost the only people he had at Zemo’s hands all over again. The only friends he had.

It would take so little for tonight's dream to be real. The next group of hired killers Zemo sent might be better shots.

Steve took a deep breath and stood. None of this would be over until Zemo was dealt with. His team wouldn't be safe, and the nightmares weren't going to stop, until then.

He knew where Zemo was now, and he knew what he had to do. He'd been sitting here for an hour trying to summon up the resolve to go and do it.

Now, he just needed to be well on his way before anyone else woke up.

He had never done this kind of thing on his own before. He'd always had orders, an objective, someone to report to, whether it was to the Army or the other Avengers.

He couldn't involve the Avengers in this, though. Going into Vespugia was something he was going to have to do strictly under the radar. If he succeeded, he might very well end up in a South American prison, or even an American one, considering that he was going into a foreign country with the intention of deposing and possibly killing their leader.

He hesitated at the door, shield a heavy weight in his hand. This wasn't the first mission Steve had left on, or even the first one where the odds had been against his coming back, but it would be the first time he left without saying good-bye.

As he headed down the long hallway into the quinjet hanger, it occurred to him that he should have left a note, but it was too late now.

Steve had paid attention during Iron Man’s attempts to teach him how to fly the quinjet; and he was pretty sure that he could get it safely to South America. It wasn't that different from flying a regular plane, and he had done that before.

Steve swung his shield up onto his back, tightening the straps to hold it firmly in place, then entered the hanger and went to begin the preflight checklist.

He had just gotten ready to take off when he heard the sound of the door to the hanger being opened with such force that it rebounded off the wall.

Steve spun around to see Thor standing in the door, a tiny Jan perched on his shoulder. Iron Man and Hank -- in Giant-Man costume -- were just visible behind him.

"We are coming with you!" Thor boomed, his voice echoing off the hanger's vaulted ceiling. "An enemy of Captain America is an enemy of the Avengers!"

Steve stood there, frozen, with absolutely no idea what he was going to do now. He'd meant to sneak out, to be gone before the others woke up. They weren't supposed to be involved in this. It was his fight.

"How do you-" Steve started.

"Know you were sneaking out in the middle of the night?" Iron Man asked. "Mr. Stark’s got security cameras installed in the hanger. When they picked you up, they set off an alert in my armor."

Did the man never sleep? It was three a.m. Hank and Jan both had the slightly dazed look of people recently shaken awake, but Iron Man sounded as if he'd been up for hours.

He'd probably never gone to bed at all, if the number of times Steve had run into Iron Man or Tony sitting up in the library in the middle of the night were anything to go by.

"Why did you not tell us of your intentions?" Thor went on, blond brows drawn together in a frown. "No, it matters not," he went on, waving a dismissive hand, before Steve had a chance to think of an appropriate answer. "You are our brother in arms, and your battles are our battles.

"Iron Man woke the rest of us up and explained where you were going," Hank said, ducking around Thor and into the hanger. "Jan and I wanted to try and talk you out of it, but Goldilocks here was all in favor of smiting."

"He made some good points," Jan said. "El President's a dictator who seized control of Vespugia in a military coup. The only reason nobody in Vespugia has gotten rid of him is because he killed the last three sets of people who tried."

Hank turned to look at her, and she flutter over from Thor's shoulder to his, shrugging as she landed. "What? Did you think _Vogue_ was the only thing I read?"

"And you?" Steve asked, turning to give Iron Man a pointed glare. Tony had told him about Zemo's continued survival and current location in confidence, the same way Steve had told him -- well, told Iron Man, but he was almost entirely certain now that the two were one and the same -- about Bucky's death and the nightmares.

Iron Man shrugged, the armor's joints making faint whirring noises as he did so. "He helped frame me for murder, and he's selling adamantium to Doctor Doom. I voted for taking him down. He should pay for what he's done."

"Verily." Thor nodded. "His crimes are legion. He has wrought great evil during the Second World War and in more recent days, and he slaughters the rain forest with as little care as he does men."

They couldn't come. He had to make them understand that. Steve opened his mouth to explain that Zemo had control of an entire country and probably a very large and well-armed military; that they would breaking numerous international laws; that he might not be coming back and he couldn't put rest of them at risk because of his own personal feuds.

Even if their support did ease something inside of him.

"This is my-" Steve began again. Thor's frown deepened, and Hank folded his arms and grew several feet taller. Iron Man was simply looking at him, no expression discernable through his metal faceplate. "I would be honored to have you all with me," he finished.

Jan smiled. "Good answer, sweetie."

"Great," Iron Man said. "Now get out of the way and let me finish pre-flighting the quinjet. You've had exactly three lessons on how to fly this thing; there's no way you're qualified to pilot it all the way to South America."

Steve's protests that he had already pre-flighted the aircraft went unheeded. Iron Man performed the entire checklist over again, in half the time it had taken Steve, and within five minutes, all of the Avengers were loaded into the quinjet, Iron Man at the controls and Steve in the co-pilot's seat, the Mansion slowly shrinking below them.

"So, Cap," Jan said, as they lights of Manhattan faded on the horizon behind them, "what's our plan once we've landed?"

"Actually," Steve said, "I, um, don't know."

"Well, we cross into Vespugia's airspace in six hours," Iron Man said. "So you'd better come up with something by then."

  


***

  
The climate in this land might leave something to be desired, but many of the creatures that were to be found here were beautiful indeed.

Amora raised her hand to eye-level, tilting it slightly so that the sunlight fell across her palm at just the right angle to best illuminate the tiny frog resting in the hollow of her gloved hand. It was a most delightful creature, delicate, even fragile, with huge, liquid black eyes. Its bright golden skin contrasted appealingly with the emerald green of her glove.

Her magic, though diminished, was still powerful enough to protect her from the venom in its skin, but she nevertheless preferred to keep her gloves on.

"Those are extremely poisonous, _mein liebes_ Enchantress," Zemo said, indicating the frog with a nod of his head.

Amora smiled at him, slipping the animal into a small pouch attached to her belt. "I am quite aware of that." She stood, brushing away the tiny smear of dirt that the frog had left behind. "You device is most impressive," she lied, staring up the large metallic dish set into the side of mountain. It was a dozen feet across, its surface gleaming dully in the sunlight, and according to Zemo, its curved sides served to reflect and amplify the beam of energy it emitted. Compared to the workings of the dwarven smiths, Zemo's energy weapon, a device which he arrogantly referred to as "my death ray," was a child's toy. Its beam would barely have left a scorch mark on the walls of Asgard. However, it should prove most effective against Thor's mortal allies, and men, Amora had found, had a great liking for flattery. If spoken to honestly, they tended to grow angry and throw one out of Asgard.

The day of her vengeance against the Allfather would come eventually, however, and her impending victory over Thor and his companions would serve to speed its coming.

"The final components were received from America just this week," Zemo said. "Herr Hammer may have fled from the American authorities, but he is a man of his word. He sent me the final shipment of goods we had agreed upon before he went to ground, and my men have just finished installing the last of the necessary pieces. When the six other death rays that are distributed around my city are activated, Vespugia will be invincible against assault by air."

"And then you will be free to launch your attack on Carnelia without fear of American interference," Amora completed. She had heard this speech thrice already. Carnelia contained the remaining mineral and oil reserves Zemo required to carry out his planned conquest of the rest of Latin America, and its capitol, a large port city, would give him a base to stage an amphibious attack against the isle of Cuba -- something the land-locked nation of Vespugia lacked.

Cuba apparently contained a mighty fortress guarded by American men at arms, from which Zemo, with his death rays, could threaten the southern coast of the American principality of Florida. This tactic, he had told her, had previously been tried by a Slavic warlord without success, but Zemo's weapons were far superior, being defensive as well as offensive, and his success was assured.

Amora had agreed to use her powers to aid him in swaying national leaders to his side. After all, she had always found it amusing to have kings and noblemen at her beck and call, and she needs must find something to amuse herself with until her quest to discover Loki's prison and free him bore fruit. After Zemo had conquered all he intended to conquer, she could easily bend him to her will and rule through him.

She could always get rid of him when she tired of him. Then again, she might not even need to. He was old, after all, and mortals did not live very long.

Zemo had had two of his guards accompany them into the jungle. They were nearly identical, both with short, blond hair and dark glasses hiding their eyes, and the slightly taller of the two had been speaking to someone over a radio headset throughout the entirety of their quest to see the "death rays." Mortals, Amora had found, tended to carry around many small technological objects that made irritating noises.

"El Presidente," the taller of the guards was saying now, "an unidentified aircraft has just entered Vespugian airspace."

When she had first forged her alliance with Zemo, Amora had place a network of spells around the palace, to alert her if another Asgardian came within a hundred leagues of it. As the guard spoke, she felt the magical ties that held those spells in place snap.

"Thor approaches, Baron," she announced. "I can sense his presence."

"So my guards have just told me," Zemo said, his eyes narrowing. "An unknown aircraft has invaded my airspace. I think perhaps this would be an opportune time to test my new defense system, don't you?"

Amora frowned, and shook her head, her hair sliding over her shoulders like silk. "Thor's power is great. Your device may slay the humans, but it cannot kill him, and he will surely seek vengeance upon you for the attempt."

"Let him," Zemo said, smiling slightly. "If he tries to attack, he will find my army waiting for him."

The arrogance of mortals truly knew no end. "He is the mighty Thor," she informed him coolly. "Your army will be as nothing to him."

Zero's sparse, white eyebrows rose. "I had assumed that that was to be your part in our little alliance."

Amora felt her face heat, remembering the humiliation of her previous failure. "My powers have little effect on him, diminished as they are."

"No matter." Zemo gestured sharply, dismissing the subject. "The force of one death ray may not slay him, but six of them together may prove his match. You have but to distract him and any of the Avengers who survive long enough for me to return to the palace and activate them all. This one" he nodded at the structure that loomed above them, "I may arm manually from here, to destroy the aircraft, and hopefully, Captain America as well, but I have not the time to do the same with the others." He smiled again, the expression transforming his gaunt face into a net of wrinkles. "I had never expected fate to be kind enough to allow me to watch Captain America explode a second time."

Amora cared not for the man's petty feuds with other mortals, but fate had indeed been kind to her today. As it should, be to one who had been the favored pupil of the Norn Queens, who ruled men's fates the way the gods ruled men.

Within mere hours, she would find herself face to face with Thor yet again. And this time, the Avengers would not have the chance to come between them.

  


***


	2. Chapter 2

"Heads up, people," Tony said, as one of the numerous lights on the quinjet's control panel lit up. "We may have been spotted by Vespugian defenses."

Steve frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"For one thing, a targeting signal just locked onto us." Tony stamped hard on the left rudder and wrenched the yoke around as far as it would go, rolling the quinjet and pulling its heading around to the left. "I'm taking evasive action."

"Thank for the warning," Hank muttered. He was gripping the sides of his seat, knuckles white.

The little red light on the console had neither wavered nor dimmed; whatever it was that had its radar system locked onto them, it hadn't lost contact. "Sorry," Tony said, before throwing the quinjet into a steep dive.

According to both quinjet's instruments and the armor's own internal sensors, they were the only aircraft in a five-mile radius, which meant that whatever was trying to target them -- had already targeted them -- had to be ground-based.

"Zemo's been buying weapons from Hammer Industries, and with our luck, that will include top-of-the line surface to air missiles," Tony warned the others. "This could get rough."

On the heels of Tony's words, a beam of bright light materialized only a few feet from the edge of the quinjet's right wing. He swore inwardly and banked left, just managing to avoid it, and it winked out of existence as abruptly as it had appeared.

This was not good. Heat-seeking missiles could be dodged or diverted. Lasers, not so much.

"What sorcery is this?" Thor demanded, Mjolnir suddenly ready in his hand, not that it was going to do him much good from inside the quinjet.

"A giant laser," Hank said, voice dry. "That was a giant laser. Do you think he bought that from Hammer?"

Steve groaned, one hand covering his face. "No," he muttered. "This one's all Zemo. It's his old death-ray gun, only massive. The one he had during the war was hand-held."

Tony felt a sudden, sinking sensation in his stomach. Why did that sound familiar? "What did the ray gun do, exactly?" He had a vague memory of seeing mentions of Zemo's work in some of the articles on Nicola Tesla's teleforce theories he'd read while designing his repulsor technology. Heinrich Zemo had also been working on energy rays during the nineteen thirties, but his theories had been based on completely different and -- in Tony's estimation -- less elegant principles.

Steve caught Tony's eyes, his expression pained. "It disintegrated things."

The entire quinjet lurched, controls shuddering in Tony's hands, as the death ray was fired again, burning a perfectly circular hole some two feet in diameter through the aircraft's left wing.

A hole in the wing was no big deal, Tony told himself calmly, as he fought with the suddenly-far-less-responsive controls. He could handle a hole in the wing. The quinjets had been designed to take heavy damage and keep flying, and they were only at two thousand feet; landing wouldn't take very long.

The death ray materialized once more, momentarily whiting out one corner of Tony's vision, and then the end of the right wing was gone.

"We're going to crash, aren't we?" Jan said, with a surprising amount of calm, considering the circumstances.

Luckily, Tony was wearing the Iron Man helmet, so the other Avengers couldn't see him mouthing a string of silent profanity mixed with pleas directed at the quinjet as he struggled to keep its nose up. "We're going to have to bail out," he said out loud. He used his elbow to shove the throttle back, slowing their airspeed.

"Thor, you've got Giant-Man," Steve said, unbuckling his harness and standing up. "I'm with Iron Man. Wasp, are you-"

"I'm good." From the sound of her voice, suddenly both softer and more piercing, Jan had shrunk down. Tony didn't dare look away from the controls in his hands to check. "I've got my own wings."

Tony waited until Steve had grabbed hold of his shoulder, and then hit the button that opened the cockpit doors. He stayed seated at the controls long enough for Thor, Hank, and Jan to exit the plane, then let go of the yoke and stood. "Time to go. Grab me around the neck," he suggested, "and watch out for the jet boots."

He gripped the edge of the door with one gauntlet for a moment just before they jumped. The quinjet had been the first aircraft he'd ever designed and built entirely on his own -- every part in her had come from his lab, every piece of metal in the airframe and engine block machined by him. "Sorry, girl," he whispered, and then he fired the boot jets, propelling himself and Steve away from the plane.

Moments later, the heat and noise washed over them both as the quinjet exploded. Tony didn't look back.

When they reached the ground, Zemo's men were waiting for them.

Tony had expected that. He hadn't expected that there would be quite so many of them, or that they would have a hum-vee with a M256A1 anti-tank gun mounted on it.

They had two jeeps with M1 machine guns, too, but really, once you were already dealing with 120mm explosive rounds, .50 caliber machine gun bullets were practically irrelevant.

"Now would be a good time to have a plan," Tony said, as he reduced the thrust from the boot jets and landed. "Because either that gun has HEAT armor-piercing rounds, and I'm screwed, or it has anti-personal canister rounds, and we're all screwed."

"Take out their vehicles, first." Steve nodded at the jeep and the hum-vee. "And try not to kill them."

"First, get rid of the big gun," Tony paraphrased. "Good plan. I'm not a fan of the big gun. Well, save for the fact that M830A1 rounds are intellectually interesting."

"Fighting now," Steve muttered, as he unslung his shield and brought it up before him in a defensive stance. "Talking shop later."

Thor and Hank had landed several feet away from them, and Thor was now eyeing the dozen or so Vespugian soldiers in front of them grimly. He was slowly swinging Mjolnir about his head, gathering momentum.

Hank had already grown to twice his normal height. The Vespugians' officer was shouting at the rest of them Spanish, and as Tony watched, one of the machine gun crews swung the barrel of their weapon around to point at Hank.

"Giant-Man," Steve shouted, "shrink down. You'll just make yourself a target."

Tony sent a two-handed repulsor blast at the machine gun -- it wasn't enough to destroy the gun, because the full force of his repulsors would have killed the gun crew, but it sent the two soldiers handling the weapon flying, and the remaining man dove for cover behind the jeep. This kind of thing was what the armor had been built for, but the armor had been designed to be lethal, and right now, that was a handicap.

Hank was shrinking back to normal size, pulling something tiny and silvery from his pocket as he did so.

Mjolnir was a blur around Thor's head now, its flight creating a low, whirring noise that Tony could feel vibrating through the armor.

He had just brought his hand back to throw when the anti-tank gun fired.

There was a blindingly bright flash, and an ear shatteringly loud bang, and a slightly singed Thor stood there unmoved, Mjolnir grasped in both hands. From the look of things, Tony suspected he had actually hit the HEAT round with Mjolnir like a baseball.

And it was HEAT rounds, and not canister. It was a sad commentary on his life that that was actually a good thing.

Tony exchanged a swift glance with Steve. "It looks like Thor's got the anti-tank gun. You and Hank take the men. I've got the other machine gun." He glanced around, scanning soldiers, weapons, and the surrounding jungle so quickly that details blurred together. "Where's the Wasp?" She'd said she would be fine bailing out...

"Wasp's got the anti-tank gun," Steve said. He nodded to the hum-vee, then brought his shield up to block a stream of bullets as the Vespugians began firing their assault rifles at him. The force of the fire dropped him to one knee, but the shield wasn't so much as scratched.

Tony looked more closely at the hum-vee, and this time, registered the small, flying shape darting around the gun mount. One of the men reached for the weapon's firing mechanism, and was met by a brief flash of light. He drew his hand back, quickly.

Hank had donned his Ant-Man helmet -- that was what the shiny thing had been; he must have shrunk it down for transport -- and was standing motionless in the middle of the clearing. A dark tide of tiny bodies was sweeping out from the jungle toward him.

Hank was not bringing any of those things home in Tony's quinjet.

And then he remembered that the quinjet was gone, and at any other time, he might have sparred a thought to worry about how they were going to get home, but the second machine gun had started up, and a line of kicked-up dust and dead ants was being drawn across the ground as the bullets moved closer to Hank.

Tony didn't think, he just moved. The sound of the machine gun bullets clanging off the armor was deafening, and he could feel the impacts straight through to his bones. It was staggering, rattling the armor with too much force for him to even feel any pain, just bruising impact and then numbness. The pain would come later.

The armor couldn't stand up to this kind of assault forever, and all the gun crew had to do was swing their weapon a little further around to bring it to bear on Steve.

Tony braced himself, and started walking forward, ignoring the red warning light that started to flash on his helmet's visual display. The repeated impacts were staring to dent the armor; he was taking damage.

Walking into the machine gun fire took effort, more effort than Tony could exert on his own -- the armor's powered assistance was what kept him moving forward, kept him from staggering back as each bullet hit. The jeep was only ten feet away now. Eight.

He had to go slowly, keep himself between Hank and the others and the gun. Six feet...

The Vespugians jumped out of the way as he bore down on them, and Tony brought both hands up and sent the full force of his repulsor blasts towards the machine gun mount.

There was a bright flash as the jeep exploded, and then a wave of sound and heat struck him, much, much harder than the shockwave from the quinjet, and he was airborne. He had just enough time to think that this was really familiar before the ground came up to hit him.

* * *

 

Iron Man was motionless on the ground; arms and legs bent like a broken toy.

Steve slammed his shield into a Vespugian soldier's face, then yanked the man's weapon from his suddenly nerveless hands. He dropped the gun, kicked it away, and grabbed the man by the front of his uniform, swinging him around into the other two soldiers who were charging him. Steve had the advantage now; they couldn't use their guns as effectively with him this close, not without risking hitting one of their own, and when it came to hand-to-hand, Steve had the double advantages of mass and training.

Training was the only thing that allowed him to keep part of his attention on the men around him, rather than the far more important fact that Tony wasn't moving, and that he could no longer see Jan.

Steve ducked one blow, blocked another, and felt bone snap as he twisted the soldier's arm back. The man fell to his knees, cradling his arm to his chest and making small gasping sounds of pain, then abruptly stood again with a shriek, brushing frantically at himself with his good hand.

There were immense brown ants crawling all over him. They had completely swarmed the remaining jeep, Steve realized, making it entirely unusable, and were closing in on the Vespugians like a vast, crawling carpet. It was one of the most disturbing things Steve had ever seen.

The jeeps were down, the soldiers were immobilized if not entirely disarmed; now all that remained was the anti-tank gun, which was still firing at Thor. He was spinning his hammer in a circular blur in front of him, detonating the explosive rounds before they could hit him. The entire front of his breastplate was singed, and a corner of his cloak was on fire, but Thor looked otherwise unharmed beyond a few burns. He was effectively pinned down, though, unable to throw his hammer to take the hum-vee out without risking taking a direct hit from the gun.

Tony was still not moving. He couldn't see Jan, and Hank was standing stock still in the middle of the clearing; Steve could hear him muttering to himself over the communicator. "No, Iron Man's not prey. The jeep is our prey. The jeep is good to eat. Come on, you guys like leather."

If this was Hank as Ant-Man, Steve definitely preferred Giant-Man.

One target still live, and none of the others were in a position to deal with it. Steve dropped to the ground and half-slid/half-rolled through the Vespugians' legs, trusting to the leather and mail of his costume and to Hank to keep the ants off him. Once clear, with enough room to throw his shield, he sprang to his feet and hurled it at the anti-tank gun. It sliced into the side of the weapon and stuck there.

Third target down. Also, Steve was now unarmed.

There were several discarded automatic rifles on the ground, but they were all crawling with ants half the size of his thumb, and Steve wasn't about to pick them up, even with gloves on. Otherwise, he would have captured himself some firepower in a heartbeat. He hadn't intended to kill anyone but Zemo, but now Tony was...

Steve had insisted that they all come down here. Otherwise, Tony would be sitting in the Mansion's library right now with a technical journal, or out on the town with some girl.

"My thanks, Captain America," Thor called, with a nod in Steve's direction. Mjolnir was now dangling loosely from his wrist by its leather strap. "It is a pity we cannot speak to our attackers in their language. I would like to offer them a chance to surrender."

The handful of Vespugians lying unconscious on the ground were now entirely covered by ants. Steve didn't know if the ants were actually biting them or not, but he was pretty sure they were eating the jeep's seats. From where he stood, he could see holes forming in the leather.

"I don't speak Spanish," Steve said. "Just a little French and German."

Jan appeared atop the hum-vee, almost seeming to materialize out of thin air as she suddenly grew to full size again. . ""¡Entrega!" she shouted. "Entrega, y hacemos que las, um, ants," she waved a hand at the army of insects," van."

Nobody moved, though the men were no longer pointing their guns at any of the Avengers. Now that Steve had a chance to really look at them, the insignia on their uniforms was distinctly familiar. The uniforms themselves were green camouflage, but the men had pairs of silver lightning bolts at their collar, and one was wearing a pair of diamond-shaped insignia next to them. "Hande hoch, Oberscharfuhrer," Steve called, pointing directly at the man.

Zemo had been an SS officer. If he'd given his men Schutzstaffel insignia, chances were he'd given them the same rank designations, too.

The officer stared at him blankly, eyes wide with what looked almost like fear. Steve stared back.

The man dropped his gun, and slowly raised his empty hands to the height of his shoulders, snapping an order to his men in Spanish.

"I am impressed." The voice drifted out of the jungle, low, sensual and definitely female. "Well nigh a score of warriors, and you defeat them."

Thor stiffened, his normally open face going grim and set, lips a thin line, Mjolnir immediately at the ready.

"Truly," the voice went on, "the Avengers are mighty indeed. We shall see if they are mighty enough to stand against the power of a goddess."

A woman stepped out of the jungle and began walking toward them. Hank's ants pulled away from her as she went, creating a little circle of clear ground around her. She was tall, with hair the same wheat-gold as Thor's, and was dressed entirely in shades of green, including elbow-length green opera gloves and tall, high-heeled green boots.

She held something small and brightly colored in the palm of her right hand.

There was a faint groan, just audible through the communicator, and Iron Man stirred, one hand going to the center of his chestplate. There was a large dent there, and a gash in the metal extending all the way across the circular inset that Steve suspected had something to do with the armor's power supply. A piece of shrapnel must have hit him.

He wasn't dead. He was a little banged-up, but he wasn't dead.

"A goddess?" Jan snorted. "Since when do goddesses wear tacky green go-go boots?"

Steve felt himself starting to grin. His team was still together, still all right. Not dead. Not dead, a little voice chanted steadily in the back of his mind.

They had just taken on over a dozen men armed with weapons that could have taken out a Tiger tank. They could definitely take on one woman who was armed only with... a little yellow frog?

Iron Man sat up slowly, one hand still pressed against the dent in his armor, and the other cradling his head. "Who are you," he asked, voice wavering slightly, "and how come more of the people we fight don't look like you?"

"She is the Enchantress," Thor said, through gritted teeth. "She is a traitor to Asgard, and a foul weaver of deceptions. Do not look into her eyes, or she will ensorcell you."

Steve immediately dropped his gaze from her face to somewhere in the vicinity of her left shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to be turned against his team.

The Enchantress smiled -- Steve could just see it ought of the corner of his eye. "You're all going to put your weapons down and surrender. You don't want to fight me, do you?"

No, he didn't. She was so beautiful; tall, curvy, regal... everything a woman should be. How could he seriously fight a woman? It would be wrong...

Hank's ants were moving away from her, the circle of clear ground around her spreading. Tony had halted in his attempt to climb to his feet, and was frozen on his knees, hands held out before him, palms up.

Steve tightened his grasp on the straps of his shield, until the leather dug into his fingers. "No," he said. Saying it was easy, because it sounded as if he were agreeing with her that no, he didn't want to fight. "No," he said again. "We're not going to surrender." Getting the words out took an almost physical effort.

Iron Man shook his head, hard. "No. We're not." His helmet's faceplate was as expressionless as always, but Steve could hear the effort the words had taken in his voice.

Hank was shaking his head, too, and the ants were closing in again, their retreat halted. The Ant-Man helmet made his face an expressionless mask, much like Iron Man, but from Hank, the effect was eerie rather than familiar; Steve was used to being able to see his face.

"Your wiles will not work on me this time," Thor said, through gritted teeth. His grip on Mjolnir was so tight that it had turned his knuckles white.

"What's wrong with the rest of you?" Jan, still standing atop the hum-vee, was staring from one of them to next, frowning, her hands on her hips. "Of course we're not going to surrender. There's five of us and one of her." She turned back to the Enchantress, shrinking until she was hovering in mid-air again. "We're here to see President Zemo, and you're not stopping us."

"Foolish mortal," the Enchantress sneered. "Your will is no match for the power of the Enchantress."

"The hell it isn't." Jan flew at her, bolts of energy shooting from her hands.

They ought to have hit the Enchantress dead center, right in the middle of her shapely torso. Instead, a faintly glimmering shield materialized around her, and the energy from Jan's sting splashed against it harmlessly.

Jan pulled up sharply before she ran into the shield, wings fluttering fiercely to keep herself in place. "Any ideas?" she asked the rest of them.

The Enchantress laughed. It was a low, musical sound, like softly ringing bells. "Do not move," she said.

Steve immediately attempted to take a step forward, and found that this time, her spell was not something that could be overcome with a little will power.

The others were all frozen as well. Iron Man, Hank, even the Vespugian soldiers had stopped moving.

The Enchantress made a complicated gesture over the little frog she held in her left hand, and then began walking forwards towards Thor, the ants falling back as she came. "You see how easily my powers affect them. They are weak, unworthy of the attentions of one such as you."

"Release them." Thor cocked his hammer back, ready to swing it.

"We are all that there is of Asgard in this wretched place," she went on, still walking forward, her steps slow and unhurried. "We belong together. Together we could rule Midgard."

"I do not wish to rule," Thor said, and thunder rumbled in the distance. "And I had thought your desire was to rule with Loki at your side."

Her lips curved with a little, possessive smile. "With you beside me, I would have no need for Loki. Stay your hammer, thunder god," she added, "or I will order the soldiers to shoot your mortal friends. They would do anything to make me happy."

"My father was right to cast you out of Asgard. His only error was in not doing so sooner."

Steve could feel the air pressure dropping. He had heard from Iron Man that Thor could actually call and command lightening with his hammer, but he had never seen him do it. It looked like he was about to get his chance.

"I see you are resolved to oppose me," the Enchantress said, and there was regret in her voice. "Very well. Then I shall leave you with a token of my regard before I hand your friends over to Zemo, that you may know what it is to refuse the Enchantress."

And then she threw the frog at him.

Everything seemed to happen at once after that.

The Enchantress had to drop her shield to make the throw, and Jan, who hadn't been affected by her paralysis spell and had been hovering over head, waiting for her chance, sent a fresh volley of stinger blasts her way.

Thor, meanwhile, snatched the frog out of the air before it could hit him in the face. Then he went suddenly pale, hammer falling from his hand to land on the jungle floor with a resounding thud that seemed far louder than it should be.

The Enchantress shrieked as Jan's stinger blasts hit her, and the invisible force holding Steve's limbs in place suddenly vanished.

Thor seemed to fall in slow motion, like a tree being felled, and the sound when he hit the ground was even louder than that of Mjolnir's impact. His back arched for a moment, and then he was still.

"Thor!" Steve shouted. He wanted to turn, to go help his teammate, because nothing hurt Thor, Thor was supposed to be invulnerable, but the Vespugian soldiers had also been released from the spell, and they were getting either brave or stupid. One of them was bending to pick up his discarded gun.

"Don't move," Steve ordered the Vespugians, using German again. "You're still our prisoners." He hefted his shield threateningly, adding, in English, "I can throw this and break you in half before you have a chance to pick that gun up and fire it."

The man quickly straightened back up. It looked like at least some of the Vespugians understood English after all. "You know some English. Good. My German's a little rusty. It's been sixty years, after all."

"I don't care if she gives off electromagnetic energy," Hank was shouting. "Eat her! She's an enemy from another colony and she's going to eat all our eggs!" The ants were listening, creeping up onto the toes of the Enchantress's boots.

"What did you do to him?" Iron Man had regained his feet, and had his repulsors at the ready again. When the Enchantress didn't respond, busy trying to kick the ants away, her lips curled in a disgusted grimace, he fired both of them at her.

The repulsor blast hit her dead on, and she went sailing back toward the crawling carpet of ants, vanishing from sight a split second before she would have hit.

Iron Man let his hands fall back to his side. "I hate magic," he spat.

Steve gave the Vespugian prisoners a final threatening glare before turning back to his team. "You said you would make the ants go away," one of prisoners muttered from behind him, and then the oberscharfuhrer snapped something harsh in Spanish and the man fell silent.

"How's Thor?" Steve asked, ignoring them both. "What did she do to him?"

Jan shrugged, bobbing up and down once in midair as she did so. "She put some kind of spell on that frog and threw it at him." She landed lightly on one of Thor's shoulders, peering at his face. "He's still breathing," she said, and Steve's shoulders sagged slightly in relief. "Maybe it was some kind of sleep or paralysis spell."

Hank's head jerked around. "What does the frog look like?" he asked sharply. "And Jan, get off him. Don't touch anything."

Steve crossed the clearing in a few long strides, but Iron Man got there first. "I'll try removing it and see if that breaks the spell," he said, reaching down and scooping up the yellow frog in one gauntleted hand.

"I said nobody touch the frog!" Hank shouted. "Iron Man, get rid of that thing now!"

Iron Man closed his hand into a fist, crushing the frog between his metal fingers.

"You- What--" Hank sputtered. "Those are endangered!" He paused, then, "Those gloves are non-permeable, right?" There was a thread of worry in his voice suddenly, and a concerned tilt to the faceless helmet.

"Why?" Iron Man asked, in the tones of someone who wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Because the frog you just squished was a Phyllobates terribilis, a Golden Dart Frog, and it contained enough toxins to instantly kill two African elephants."

That was... not good. Jan had said that Thor was still breathing, but Steve knelt down next to him to make sure. He could see Thor's chest rising and falling, so the frog hadn't killed him yet, but he wasn't moving, either. His eyes were closed and he looked pale.

Why hadn't he insisted that the others stay in New York?

"Oh." Iron Man opened his hand and dropped the pulped remains of the frog on the ground. Rather than falling upon it ravenously, the ants drew back from it, either from instinct, or because Hank had told them too. Tony stared at his glove for a moment, still covered in a faint sheen of bloody slime. "In that case, if the seal on the glove had been broken, I'd already be dead, so I ought to be fine. What do you need to make an antidote?"

"I don't think there is one," Jan said. "I think people usually die so quickly that there's no point."

"We shouldn't have come down here," Steve said softly. Thor looked every bit as massive even when this still, but seeing Thor still and quiet was unnatural. "I shouldn't have brought us down here." It hurt to say the words. He wanted Zemo to be brought to justice, wanted Zemo dead, but not at the cost of his friends' lives.

First Iron Man and now Thor. Iron Man would have been killed by that explosion if he hadn't been wearing the armor -- Steve had thought he had been for a moment -- and when he had groaned and sat up Steve had been so crushingly relieved, had thought they were going to get out of this without anyone being seriously hurt. And now Thor was...

Thor groaned, and opened his eyes. "What sorcery did she work on me?"

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. For the second time in a handful of minutes, it felt as if he had dodged a bullet.

Iron Man laughed, and even through the faint distortion caused by the armor, it sounded slightly hysterical. "I hate to break it to you, Goldilocks, but it wasn't sorcery. It was a poisonous frog."

"Technically," Jan said, "it was a frog she'd worked sorcery on."

"Technically," Hank said, "you ought to be dead. You grabbed one of the most poisonous things on earth in your bare hand."

"I have survived battle against a horde of frost giants," Thor said, voice stiff and almost offended, "against dragons and demons and all manner of loathsome things. It is not my destiny to be killed by a frog." He pushed himself up on one elbow, wincing as he did so. "For such a small creature, its venom is most potent." He rubbed at his neck with one massive hand. "All of my limbs feel as if the hammers of dwarven smiths have been beating on them."

There was a sudden, blood-curdling scream from behind them. Steve spun around, and dropped into a crouch, heart pounding and shield at the ready. He lowered his shield again when he saw what was actually going on; one of the Vespugians who'd been knocked unconscious by Tony's repulsor blasts had just woken, and was now screaming and thrashing and thrashing in an attempt to get the ants off of him.

His hands and face were red and swollen with bites, some of which were bleeding sluggishly.

They were actually trying to eat him, Steve realized, with a faint surge of nausea. Like in that story about the column of ants destroying a South American plantation. He swallowed hard. "Giant-Man, call off the ants before they actually do eat someone."

Hank tiled his head slightly, as if listening to something. "They don't want to leave," he said. "They're still hungry, and they don't usually move on until they've stripped a place bare."

"You mean they are wont to travel in groups like this?" Thor frowned about him at the masses of brown ants, which had left a clear space around his body. "Their number is as vast as the flakes on snow in a mighty blizzard."

"This is an entire colony." Hank gestured around them with one hand, taking in the carpet of insects. "I sent out signal to summon the closest one. Most colonies would only have sent their worker ants, but these are Ecitoninae; when they move, they take the whole colony with them."

The soldier's screams had reached the high pitch of hysteria.

"Well, tell them to take their colony somewhere else," Steve ordered.

Hank sighed, and turned to stare at the ants. There was a surge of movement as the ants seemed to go into a momentary frenzy, and then they flowed down off the jeep and away from the Vespugians like water, disappearing into the underbrush.

The man who'd been screaming went limp, making a faint sobbing sound.

Steve surveyed his team, trying to evaluate what kind of shape they were in. Jan and Hank were both still combat ready. Iron Man was still mobile, and his armor was still apparently operational, if a bit battered, but he was limping -- enough for it to be visible even with his inside the armor -- and kept putting one hand to his chest when he thought no one was looking. Steve hoped he was simply bruised where the shrapnel had hit him.

Thor was the biggest concern; he was still sitting on the ground, and looked just a little bit grey. On the other hand, he was conscious and talking, which was a major improvement on just a few minutes ago and a hell of a lot better than the alternative.

"Are you all right, Big Guy?" Jan asked. "You scared about three years off of my life falling over like that. I'm lucky it didn't give me wrinkles."

"It is of no moment." Thor waved a hand dismissively, and climbed to his feet. "I am not even injured. Zemo is obviously aware of our presence here, or they would not have fired on us. We should hasten to attack his stronghold before he was the chance to fortify his defenses."

Steve hesitated, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed that they wouldn't need to call off the mission. The chances of something else going wrong were only going to rise as they got nearer to Zemo, but they had come this far, and if they quit now, Steve's need to see justice done would have cost them a quinjet and very nearly their lives for nothing.

He dragged everybody down here with him, and they had already engaged the enemy. It was too late to back down now.

If they were lucky, Zemo might think they had been killed when the quinjet blew up.

They would have to tie up the prisoners; they couldn't take them along -- it would both slow them down and increase the risk of someone breaking free and warning Zemo that they hadn't died in the quinjet crash. Unless the Enchantress had already done so, a possibility they couldn't afford to overlook.

They would just have to keep a low profile going in and hope.

"Mayhap one of these prisoners could be persuaded to show us a way into Zemo's palace." Thor gestured at the Vespugians with the hand that held his hammer.

Steve shook his head. "He's not going to be in the palace. He obviously knows we're coming for him. He'll have a secret bunker or some other secure location to retreat to." Zemo had been influential in the Nazi high command, but he had never been the kind of fanatic who refused to cut and run when he needed to. And he always had a fallback plan, usually in the form of something large and explosive.

"I bet one of these guys knows where it is," Iron Man said. He approached the Vespugians, stopping directly in front of their commander, and held his left gauntlet up, inches away from the man's face. There was a faint flicker of blue light from the depths of the repulsor port as he activated it. "Wasp, tell them we want to know where El Presidente is, or I'm going to start frying people, and Hank will bring his friends back."

The commander stared into the repulsor's flickering light with wide eyes, but remained silent. Iron Man's repulsors could burn holes straight through human flesh -- they had killed the Carnelian ambassador instantly, and would probably vaporize half the officer's skull if Iron Man fired them at full force.

There was no way he would, not given the haunted look Tony had worn when he admitted to not sleeping since the ambassador's death, but the Vespugians didn't know that.

Iron Man moved his hand an inch or so closer, the repulsor glowing to full life, and the Vespugian officer, amazingly, broke.

"I will tell you!" he blurted out. "I will tell you. Just don't call back the ants! Kill us with your blasting weapon, touch us with the poison, just let us die cleanly!"

"With the-" Iron Man started, and then quickly recovered. "Good choice." He lowered his hand, the repulsor going dim once more. "Now, you're going to tell us exactly where Zemo is and explain how to get there and what the security is like, or Ant-Man is going to let your men get up close and personal with his little friends until you're the only one left. You, we'll leave, because I'm sure whatever reward Zemo has in store for men who lose an entire command is even more painful than being eaten alive."

It was one of the more convincing threatening performances Steve had seen, despite the innate ridiculousness of the threat -- it might have helped that Hank's Ecitoninae were legitimately terrifying. Moreover, Iron Man's helmet gave the illusion that they were dealing with an emotionless robot, something that couldn't be reasoned with and couldn't be counted on to possess either pity or mercy.

Zemo had apparently retreated to a bunker hidden underneath the Vespugian military's command center. The Vespugians gave them very detailed directions to it.

* * *

 

A mere half-hour after their battle with the Vespugian soldiers, the Avengers found themselves at the gates of Zemo's stronghold.

It was most impressively fortified, Thor concluded, as he surveyed the great metal door that barred them entry.

They had gotten this far unchallenged, thanks to Captain America's clever suggestion that that he, Giant-Man, and the Wasp don the garb of their Vespugian enemies, and thus pass unnoticed onto the "base."

Thor himself had followed behind them, with Iron Man, since the two of them would have made but poor and unconvincing soldiers. This had had the additional benefit of allowing Thor to keep a close watch over his armored companion; by the stiff, careful quality of his movements and the strained note in his voice, Iron Man was clearly concealing some form of injury beneath his armor.

If Thor were to mention this to Iron Man openly, Iron Man would of course have denied it, as he had denied being injured after Hammer had attacked him. Therefore, Thor would simply have to be ready for it were he to succumb to his wounds.

Zemo's stronghold had of course been guarded, but the guards had proven no hindrance; the Avengers had easily overcome them.

Even the mighty power of Mjolnir, however, was not going to get them through those doors. Thor had struck them a mighty blow, and his hammer had merely dented the surface slightly, when it ought to have rent the door asunder.

"Well," Iron Man observed, "we found out what Zemo's been doing with the all adamantium he hasn't been shipping to Latveria."

Captain America frowned. "Can we make our own door, or does this stuff run through the walls as well?"

Thor adjusted his grip on Mjolnir. "We shall see," he said, and swung the hammer with all his strength at the concrete wall to the left of the door. Mjolnir stuck something solid and unyielding, and a wide circle of concrete turned to powder and rubble, revealing yet more of the silvery metal behind it.

"Wonderful," Ant-Man observed, in a low voice. "Is anyone else thinking we should have gotten a little more information on this place before coming down here?"

The Wasp flew towards them around the corner where the corridor they were currently standing in yet another, wider hallway. "I've flown all over the building," she announced, as she came to hover in the air before Captain America's face. "There's no other way into this place, and it's entirely airtight. There isn't even a crack for me to squeeze through."

Captain America sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. The responsibilities of command were clearly weighing heavily upon him on this quest. "Any suggestions?"

Iron Man tapped the door with a finger, creating the ringing noise of metal on metal. "Adamantium was created to duplicate the alloy in your shield, Cap. It was only partially successful. It might take a couple hours, but between your shield and Thor's hammer, we can get through that door."

"By which point," the Wasp said, "Zemo will have God knows waiting for us in there."

Giant-Man waved a hand at the door. "He's already got God knows what waiting for us in there. It's not like the exploding quinjet was subtle." He pulled his shrunken Ant-Man helm from his pocket once more, and returned it to its full size. "But breaking the door down isn't necessary. I can get us inside faster."

"No," Captain America said, pointing a stern finger at him. "No more armies of flesh eating ants."

"This would be a different kind of ant." Giant-Man spoke hastily, the faintest hint of offense in his tone. "Anything from the Ecitoninae family would be too big. All I need is enough of a gap in the door for an ant to get through, and I can have them short out the electronic locking mechanism on the inside."

Captain America frowned, brow drawing together as he considered this. He turned to Iron Man. "I don't suppose you can do that from here?"

"The lock's controls are on the other side of the door," Iron Man informed him gravely. "I can pick up the electrical signal it's giving off with the armor's sensors, but unless I suddenly gain the ability to mind meld with machines, I need an access point before I can hack something."

"Fine. Giant-Man, we'll do it your way. Thor," Captain America turned to Thor and gestured at the door with his shield, "she's all yours."

"It will be my pleasure," Thor told him.

There was a certain satisfaction to swinging Mjolnir with all of his might, in striking the kind of great, powerful blow that he rarely allowed himself to perform in combat with mortals. The metal of the door was more durable than the hardest stone -- even granite crumbled away under Mjolnir's blows -- and he struck the seam where the two halves of the door met several times before the metal began to warp.

He had not had the opportunity to wield his hammer against the Enchantress or against the evil businessman who had used Iron Man as a weapon against his will, but at least he would have the satisfaction of aiding Captain America in confronting his enemy.

Giant-Man's ants crept through the tiny seam Mjolnir had opened in an orderly file, and several long moments later, there came a dull clanking sound from inside the door as its lock disengaged. Almost simultaneously, a loud alarm began sounding, its notes ringing through the building.

Thor stepped forward and swung Mjolnir once more. It struck true, and this time the door flew open before them, rebounding off the concrete wall with a resounding crash.

There were a dozen Vespugian men-at-arms lying in wait for them in the corridor on the other side. This time, however, they had neither an extremely large gun with exploding shells nor the Enchantress to aid them. Several brief but violent minutes later, the Vespugians were all unconscious, and the Avengers proceeded onward in triumph, unharmed save for a small scratch across Thor's left arm where a bullet had ricocheted off Iron Man's armor and grazed him, and a large bruise on Giant-Man's face, where a Vespugian had hit him.

The corridor possessed a very low ceiling, the thick concrete walls clearing Thor's head by mere inches, so Giant-Man had been able to grow no taller than some seven and a half feet, which had proved a hindrance to him in the brief battle.

Captain America and Iron Man took the lead down the corridor, as their shield and armor gave them the best protection against firearms. Thor himself fell back to the rear, in case any of their enemies chose to try and take them from behind.

The alarm was still sounding as they moved forward, a monotonous clamor Thor did his best to ignore.

The corridor ended in a sharp turn to the left. Thor eliminated the much smaller steel door that stood before them with a single blow, and the Avengers beheld a large room, filled with computer and communications equipment. A red light was flashing on and off near the ceiling, bathing everything in a lurid, red glow.

Standing in the midst of the room was a tall, thin man of great age, his frame wizened and shrunken with his advanced years. He had the erect, commanding bearing of a great warrior, and the most malevolent smile Thor had ever seen.

"Captain America," he said. "I see you survived the destruction of your plane a second time. Most frustrating, but not entirely unexpected. Now you and your comrades will lay down your weapons and surrender to me, or you will all die."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for Zemo's use of Nazi rhetoric.

  
Zemo was standing on the far side of the room, beside a large, complicated looking control panel covered in buttons and switches. He had his right thumb resting lightly on one of the buttons, and a familiar sneer on his face.  
  
Intellectually, Steve had known that it had been six decades since he and Zemo had last come face to face, but he hadn't expected Zemo to look so old.  
  
The last time Steve had seen him, Zemo had been a powerfully built fair-haired man in his mid-thirties. Now, the blond hair was thin and white, his face was lined with age, and even his voice sounded different; it had lost the resonant quality Steve had heard him use to command his SS subordinates. The slight German accent and penchant for melodramatic posturing hadn't changed, though.  
  
"There are five of us and one of you," Steve told him. "What makes you think we'd surrender just because you have a red flashing button?" He took a step forward, and Zemo held up his left hand and snapped,  
  
"Halt where you are, Captain America. I have only to depress this button, and my death ray shall wipe this entire city off the face of the earth, killing everyone in it."  
  
Damn. His disintegration rays were certainly more than capable of that. He should have foreseen something like this.  
  
"Including you," Steve pointed out. He knew as he said it that it was a hollow protest. Zemo might be a monster, but he had never been a coward, and he wasn't the kind of man who made empty threats.  
  
Zemo's sneer deepened. "I'm ninety-six years old. I am going to die soon anyway. At least this way, I will have the pleasure of taking you with me."  
  
"And you don't care about the thousands of innocent people who you'll kill in the process?" Jan asked. She was standing on Hank's shoulder, hands up and ready to launch her stinger blast at the first sign of movement on Zemo's part.  
  
"Not especially, no." Zemo actually chuckled, a dry, wheezy sound.  
  
"No, of course not." Iron Man had both gauntlets held up, palms outward; as he spoke, his repulsors flickering to life. "I've read the reports on your mining facilities. If China and Latveria weren't blocking all motions to send a UN fact-finding investigation into your slave-labor-based environmental nightmare of a national industry, there would have been American troops in the streets of your capital years ago." There was a whining sound from the gauntlets as the repulsors powered up, their blue glow brightening. "As your buddy Justin Hammer might have told you, I can fry you with these before you'd even have a chance to push that button."  
  
The whining noise from the armor reached crescendo, then abruptly stopped, and the light from both replusors flickered and died. The power core set in the center of Iron Man's chest plate dimmed noticeably, and he put one hand to his chest. "Oh, come on."  
  
Zemo's lips twitched. "What a shame. It looks as if your power source is damaged. I was disappointed at how ineffective my anti-tank weapons seemed to have been, but it looks like my disappointment was premature."  
  
All right, so Iron Man's high-powered weaponry was out. He was still stronger than an un-armored man, and Thor and Jan still had their full powers at their disposal. And Hank was still wearing his Ant-Man helmet. Maybe he could have ants come short out this computer, too.  
  
He would need time to accomplish that, though. And Steve needed to communicate the idea to the others, without letting Zemo know.  
  
"Oh, your giant guns were very scary," Steve assured Zemo, letting all the disgust he felt for the man color his voice. "Until the ants ate your pretend SS squad's jeep." He laid the slightest of stresses on the word "ant," and saw Hank's slight nod from the corner of his eye.  
  
Zemo raised his eyebrows. "And now you've stooped to threatening me with insects? Out of ideas without your little sidekick to help you, Rogers?"  
  
Steve took another step forward, suddenly not caring about Zemo's finger on that button. "This ends now, Zemo. You're not getting away again." He felt a distant surprise at how cold and angry his voice sounded.  
  
"Go ahead, Rogers." Zemo beckoned him forward with the hand that wasn't touching the button. "Kill me. Condemn all of us to death. It doesn't matter. Whatever you do, I've still won. While you spent sixty years in a block of ice, I survived Germany's defeat, seized Vespugia for my own, and made sure that my Furher's dream, that my dream, lives on. I've ruled this country for forty years, raised it from the dust, molded it in my image, and made it great. Kill us all now, and I will leave behind a country, a son, a grand legacy, while you," he spat, "are still going to die at twenty five."  
  
He was right; taking him down now wouldn't change what had happened all those years ago. It wouldn't change the fact that Zemo had been gloating enjoying his freedom for decades while Steve had been trapped in the ice and Bucky had been dead. But taking him down now would at least stop him from spreading his evil any further.  
  
"It is better to die with honor as a young man than live decades as a base, depraved craven man whose throne is built on the bodies of his subjects, and whose evil poisons the very earth his kingdom rests on," Thor rumbled.  
  
"Power has its price." The red light of the alarm was still flashing, turning Zemo's white hair the color of blood. "You of all people should know that. My ancestors hanged men and cut their lungs out to win your father's favor."  
  
Thor's eyes narrowed. "But not my favor."  
  
Something tiny and dark crept across Steve's foot. An ant. There was a thin, dark trail of ants moving along the edge of the room now, toward Zemo and the death rays' controls.  
  
"You should have been hanged," Steve spat. "Years ago, alongside all the other Nazi war criminals." Zemo's voice might be cracked with age now, but the malice in it was no less strong for all that. If he closed his eyes, it might have been the war once more, with him and Bucky chained up in Zemo's headquarters, at his mercy. Zemo had been smug then, too.  
  
They had broken free, gotten away in time to get themselves aboard that plane, and they had stopped it, but it had cost Steve everything. Cost Bucky his life.  
  
The fingers of his right hand hurt. Steve realized distantly that he was gripping the strap of his shield so tightly that the edges of the leather were cutting into his fingers.  
  
Why hadn't Hank's ants gotten to the computer yet? Standing here listening to Zemo's taunts was like having salt rubbed on a wound, and as long as Zemo had his finger on that button, he didn't have any choice but to stand still and take it.  
  
Zemo twitched suddenly, brushing at himself with his free hand. Hank hadn't been sending his ants at the computer at all; he'd sent them at Zemo.  
  
Zemo brushed at his clothing once more, more fiercely this time, and now Steve could make out the tiny black dots of ants crawling over the tunic of his Nazi-style uniform and under its high collar.  
  
In an instant, Jan had left Hank's shoulder and was hovering in mid-air, ready to attack. Steve flexed his finger, and shifted his weight, preparing to throw his shield, eyes glued to Zemo's hand on that button.  
  
Zemo was laughing as he brushed at the ants. "I don't believe it. I had thought you were joking. Do you expect a minor inconvenience like this to stop me, Rogers?"  
  
As he spoke, he made an abortive movement to swat at the ants with both hands, and that was all Steve needed.  
  
"No," his shield was already in the air, sailing towards Zemo's arm in graceful arc. Zemo was spun sideways by the impact, and then Thor and Jan were moving. "I expected it to distract you," Steve finished, as Thor grabbed Zemo by the front of his tunic and lifted him off his feet, and Jan swooped down to remove the gun at his belt.  
  
"Iron Man," Steve jerked his chin at the console, "take care of that."  
  
"I'm on it," Iron Man responded, moving towards the console. He was walking slowly, one hand still held against the center of his chest. Had he broken ribs when the armored car's explosion had slammed him into the ground?  
  
There wasn't time to worry about it now. He was still standing, which meant that Zemo was still the number one priority.  
  
"How do you expect to leave this country after breaking in here and killing me?" Zemo sneered. He seemed totally unruffled by the fact that he was currently dangling from Thor's grasp with his perfectly polished boots a foot off the floor and his right arm hanging limp, obviously broken.  
  
"We got in, didn't we?" Hank said smugly.  
  
Their quinjet might have been destroyed, but the five of them were standing in the middle of Zemo's main communications center, with Zemo himself at their mercy. They were a long way from out of options.  
  
Thor gave Zemo a slight shake. "What would you have me do with this?"  
  
"Do you want me to beg for mercy? To swear to you that I feel remorse for my 'war crimes?' To call out for someone to come and help me?" The words were a sneer. Zemo was almost smirking down at Steve, his eyes glittering with a cold hate. "I did what I did for the glory of my country and my race and I regret none of it. Tell me, did your little partner cry to you for help before he died?"  
  
The ringing in Steve's ears had never stopped, but now he could actually feel himself shaking. He wanted to beat Zemo to a bloody mess, feel Zemo's bones breaking under his knuckles, hit him again and again until he stopped moving, preferably forever.  
  
If Zemo had still been the physically powerful man he remembered, with his perfect Aryan bone structure, his perfect, blond Aryan hair, and his perfect, muscled boxer's build, then Steve would have done it, would have thrown himself on Zemo barehanded and would have felt a deep satisfaction with every blow that landed, beating the record of Zemo's atrocities into his body. Knowing that it was justice, because it would have been a fair fight.  
  
But Zemo wasn't the man he had been, and even though Zemo had earned it a thousand times over, Steve couldn't beat an old man to death. Zemo would have no hope of defending himself; it would be murder. That wasn't what good Americans did.  
  
"No," Steve said, as much to himself as to Zemo. "I want you dead, but not here, not like this. I want everyone to know what you are, what you've done. I want your loyal Vespugian citizens and international allies to hear about the prisoners you worked to death to build weapons for Hitler, the French resistance fighters you tortured, the men, women, and children you had shot and thrown into a ditch to rot just for being Jews and Slavs. I don't just want to destroy you; I want to destroy your 'legacy,' too."  
  
"I should have known you were too much of a coward to finish the job," Zemo spat. "What do you plan to do with me, then?"  
  
Steve hesitated; he didn't know what he planned to do with Zemo, actually. He'd never really expected to get this far.  
  
"We're going to turn you over to SHIELD," Iron Man said, before the silence could grow too long. His fingers were flying over the control panel's black keyboard, which had more keys than Steve thought a normal keyboard was supposed to have; even when he looked up to speak, they hadn't slowed down. "I'm sure Nick Fury will be thrilled to get his hands on you."  
  
That was... brilliant, actually. Steve should have thought of if himself; not only did Nick have the connections in international politics to see that Zemo was dealt with as he deserved, he also would be able to send a SHIELD team in to extract them, which would solve the problem of how the hell they were going to get out of Vespugia without the quinjet.  
  
"All this time and you still need other people to do your dirty work for you," Zemo hissed, his eyes narrowing to slits. "You're pathetic, Rogers, still the same weakling you've always been! Always so concerned about getting your spotless American hands dirty. Not what one would expect, from a man who keeps company with robots and mutants and other subhuman beings."  
  
Thor gave Zemo a sharp shake. "Mind your tongue, old man. It is not wise to speak ill of those who are companions to a warrior of Asgard."  
  
Zemo wasn't necessarily talking about the Avengers - these were long-familiar insults. The robotic Human Torch, the "mongrelized" Howling Commandoes, and the half-human Namor had all been favorite targets of Zemo scorn. "Jim Hammond was four times the man you ever were," Steve said, through gritted teeth. "And Namor is a better ruler than you could ever dream of being." Namor might be an arrogant bastard who thought all non-Atlanteans were beneath him, but he was a man of his word, who lived by his own code of honor, and he didn't kill people simply for the crime of being the wrong race or religion. Steve knew nothing about what Namor's reign in Atlantis had been like over the past few decades, but he knew without even having to ask that it hadn't involved slave labor.  
  
"Release me! Who are you to judge me? I am the leader of Vespugia, a general of the thousand-year Reich, and you are nothing!" Zemo was shouting now, stiff Prussian composure forgotten. "A worthless puppet who mindlessly serves his debased and weak-willed Jewish masters."  
  
"We're not going to judge you. Some kind of war crimes of human right violation tribunal will." Hank was still seven and a half feet tall, still wearing his faceless silver helmet. It made him more imposing than he otherwise might be. "Judging you would be if I brought the army ants back and let them eat dinner."  
  
On the heels of his words, the wailing of the alarm suddenly stopped, and the flashing red light went dark. "The disintegrator ray is offline," Iron Man said, as half the monitors in the room shut down. "I'm going to call Fury now."  
  
" _Nein_!" Zemo shouted. "I have lived through a hundred battles; I survived the bombing of Dresden and the fall of Berlin! I am the twelfth Baron von Zemo! My ancestors were ruling Europe while yours were rooting in the muck in an Irish bog! You will not hand me over to that filthy, illiterate peasant!" There was a flash of silver in his left hand as he struck upwards, and Thor let out a shout and dropped him.  
  
Then he was coming at Steve, an eight-inch dagger in his hand. "I will see you ended!" he screamed. "I will not fail a second time.  _Meine ehre heisst treue_!"  
  
Steve grabbed him by the wrist, halting the dagger's descent a foot away from his chest. It took less effort than he had expected, almost shockingly little.  
  
Zemo twisted in his grasp, trying to pull away, and that, too, was easy to prevent.  
  
"You don't begin to know the meaning of the word 'honor.'" Steve told him.   
  
When all of the soldiers and death rays and political power were stripped away, Zemo was nothing but one solitary old man -- an arrogant, evil man, but just a man nevertheless. Not someone to wake Steve up in the middle of the night, heart pounding and palms sweating. Not something to be haunted by.  
  
"You don't know the meaning of the word 'justice,' either," Steve went on, "but you're going to learn."  
  
Jan landed on the ground beside Thor, growing back to her normal height as she did so.  
"Sorry, gorgeous. I should have checked him for weapons more thoroughly."  
  
Thor examined his bleeding wrist with a small frown, then shrugged. "It is of no moment. The Enchantress's frog stuck me a far greater blow."  
  
The largest of the screens flickered back to life, offering them a three-foot-high version of Nick Fury's scowling face. "What the hell are you people doing?" he barked, before any of the Avengers had a chance to say a word. "Trying to start a war by dicking around in Vespugian airspace until ya actually goaded them into shooting ya down?" He stabbed an unlit cigar at them and went on, "You are this close to getting the United States into a war with half a' South America."  
  
"If it helps," Iron Man said, "we've captured El Presidente Heinrich Zemo -- maybe you remember him? -- and we're currently speaking to you from the secret command center for his weapons of mass destruction."  
  
"Wait, you won?" Nick grinned, sticking the cigar back in his mouth. "Why didn't ya say so? That, I can work with." Then, after a momentary pause, "What do ya mean, Heinrich Zemo? I thought that bastard died years ago."  
  
Steve moved a few feet to the left, dragging a still-struggling Zemo with him, until he was within Fury's probable line-of-sight. "Look, Nick," he said, forcing a smile he didn't feel, "it's our old friend,  _Herr_  Zemo."  
  
"Damn," Nick whistled. "It is him. Surrender our buddy Heinrich to SHIELD custody, and I might be able to get ya out of the mess you've landed yerselves in."  
  
Jan stepped forward, so that she was within Nick's line-of-sight as well. "We're also going to need some kind of transportation out of here, since Zemo tested his WMDs on our quinjet."  
  
"I can have an extraction team there from Guantanamo in eight hours," Fury said, making a series of hand-gestures to someone offscreen; Steve recognized several of them as hand signals the Howling Commandoes had used during the war, so Nick had to be talking to Dugan. "Stay where you are and don't talk to anyone or shoot anything."  
  
"Technically we haven't shot anything yet at all." Hank pulled his helmet off, revealing rumpled and sweaty blond hair, and shook his head. "None of us have firearms."  
  
Fury rolled his good eye. "Or bludgeon anything, or blow anything  _else_  up. SHIELD has contacts in place with the Free Vespugian government-in-exile in Carnelia; we can claim your actions were part of a planned attempt to overthrow Zemo after the US government learned that he had weapons of mass destruction and was responsible for an act of terrorism that caused the murder of a Carnelian diplomat on US soil."  
  
There were holes in that explanation big enough to drive a tank through, but it was probably more convincing than the truth would have been. Zemo redoubled his efforts to break free, snarling at Steve in German, and Steve forcibly escorted him to a chair that stood in front of one of the banks of computers and pushed him down into it, placing both hands on his shoulders and holding him there. "Someone get me something to tie him up with."  
  
Hank produced a handful of yellow string from inside the same pocket he'd concealed the shrunken Ant-Man helmet in, then held it out in front of him while it grew into fifteen feet of bright yellow nylon rope. "I wanted to practice shrinking and growing inanimate objects on something less irreplaceable than my helmet, and I forgot to take it out of my pocket," he said with a slightly embarrassed shrug.  
  
He brought the rope over to where Steve had Zemo pinned to the chair and wrapped it firmly around Zemo's arms and torso, tying him in place. There was just enough rope left over when he was done to tie Zemo's ankles to the chair legs.  
  
"You are still doomed to failure, Rogers," Zemo snarled. Some of the fight had gone out of his voice; his broken arm had to be hurting him by now. "Do you honestly imagine that you can hold out here for another eight hours? Here, in the heart of Vespugia, against my entire army?"  
  
"We have you as a hostage." Steve was already standing as he said it, turning away from Zemo and back to Nick now that Zemo was securely tied up. "I think our chances are pretty good."  
  
"We are inside an impregnable fortress that even my hammer could not gain us entry to," Thor said, tapping Mjolnir against his palm for emphasis. "We have only to close the door behind us once more to be as secure as if we were behind the walls of Asgard."  
  
"I can help with that." Iron Man had been tinkering with some small electrical device ever since he had successfully shut down the weapons system and contacted Nick; now he held it up for them to see, then tossed it to Thor. "Take this to the door and have Hank attach it to the damaged locking mechanism. It will enable the current to bypass the burned-out circuitry and the lock will re-engage."  
  
"Good thinking, Iron Man." Steve nodded at Hank and Thor. "You two go secure the entrance." It had to be Tony Stark under that armor. Who else would have had the engineering know-how to throw that kind of thing together in no time at all, not to mention successfully disarming Zemo's death rays? He hadn't even hesitated when Steve had ordered him to take the weapons system offline; he had just tossed off a confident "On it," and had buckled down and done it.  
  
"Ya have proof he's got adamantium, too?" Nick's grin split his entire face now. "Hot damn. This is like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one. The SHIELD team will be there in eight hours, and you better have the same number of hostages when they get there."  
  
It was almost a relief to have someone else taking charge for now; the entire responsibility for this whole mission was no longer resting solely on Steve's shoulders. This didn't mean, however, that he didn't have a few qualms with Nick's plan of action. "And what's the American government going to say when they hear about all of this secret maneuvering that's supposedly been happening behind their backs?"  
  
Nick shrugged. "Trust me, the only parts the administration is going to hear are the magic words 'terrorist act' and 'weapons of mass destruction.'"  
  
That was the third time someone had used that phrase. It wasn't one Steve was familiar with, though the meaning was obvious - from the way everyone kept repeating, it must have some significance he wasn't picking up on. A political slogan, maybe, or something from a propaganda film or famous speech?  
  
Iron Man made an amused noise, and Steve could practically see Tony's little half-smirk. "The American government didn't even know he was getting his own flying aircraft carrier until Tony Stark had already finished the plans and submitted SI's bid to construct it."  
  
"Yeah, about that." Nick raised his unscarred eyebrow at Iron Man. "Remind yer boss that his final blueprints for the flight deck and hydraulic catapult system are overdue. We're supposed to start construction this month. And as for you," and this last was directed squarely at Zemo, "I know some people in Tel Aviv who've wanted to get their hands on ya for a very long time."  
  
The screen went dark before Zemo could reply - not that he would have been capable of doing so in the first place, given that Hank had gagged him.  
  
"Hands up everyone who thinks we should gift wrap him," Jan said brightly.   
  
"What, you think we should put a big, red bow on his head?" Glancing at Zemo, securely bound and gagged and looking thoroughly defeated, Steve felt an almost giddy sense of relief. It was over. Zemo was finished. He couldn't haunt Steve anymore. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore, not the Avengers or anyone else. After a lifetime of evil, he was finally going to pay the price for it.  
  
Bucky could rest easy now; his death would finally be avenged. And maybe Steve could rest easier now, too.  
  
"God, I'm glad that's over with." Iron Man was leaning one hip against the side of the computer console, one palm flat against its smooth plastic surface. His left arm was wrapped around his ribs - definitely broken, Steve thought. Broken ribs were not something to fool around with; they could splinter and drive jagged ends of bone into a man's lungs. Iron Man had been going non-stop since being flattened in that explosion, fighting and flying without showing any apparent care for whatever injuries he might have under that chestplate.  
  
"You were hit pretty hard back there," Steve said, stepping forward and laying a hand over the cool metal of Iron Man's shoulder. "Maybe you should sit down now."  
  
"Not yet." Iron Man shook his head. "I need to find a power outlet. The armor's almost tapped out." He pulled away from Steve's grasp, taking a single step away from the console, then swayed.  
  
Steve grabbed him by the elbow, steadying him, a sharp pang of alarm running through him. He should have checked on Iron Man earlier, shouldn't have let it slide.   
  
Jan stepped forward to take Iron Man's other arm. "Cap's right. You need to sit down. You were hurt in that fight, weren't you? Take the armor off and let us see; you can leave the helmet on if you need to."  
  
Iron Man shook his head again. "No, I just need a power source, I-" he broke off, doubling over and pressing a hand to the center of his chest plate, "I need-"   
  
He fell heavily to his knees, armor clanking loudly on the concrete floor. Steve dropped to kneel beside him, still holding onto his arm, conscious of Jan mirroring his actions on Iron Man's other side.  
  
"It's okay," Steve said, forcing down his rising panic. "We've got you. Jan, help me get his helmet off." He might be choking, coughing up blood from damaged lungs, might have any of a hundred things wrong with him inside that metal shell.  
  
"No, don't-" Iron Man tried to push himself to one knee, then collapsed back against Steve, sagging against him heavily. "...just need to recharge," he repeated faintly. Then his head lolled against Steve's shoulder, metal brushing Steve's cheek, and he was silent.  
  
Jan was already fumbling at the helmet, pressing her fingers against the seams. "I don't know how it comes off."  
  
"Iron Man!" Thor's voice boomed from the doorway.  
  
"What happened?" Hank demanded almost simultaneously, pushing past Thor's elbow to re-enter the room.  
  
"I don't know." Iron Man -- Tony, he knew he was Tony -- wasn't moving. Steve wasn't even sure he was breathing under that helmet. "He just fell over!"  
  
"I knew he had suffered an injury earlier." Thor knelt down beside them, gently brushing Jan's fingers aside to grab Iron Man's helmet. "I should have insisted he spare himself."   
  
With a single, smooth motion he wrenched the helmet loose -- Steve could actually hear the metal groan in protest-- and tossed it aside.  
  
Tony Stark's handsome, angular face was ashen, his lips blue. His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat-soaked, and his eyes were closed, long lashes dark against his pale cheekbones.  
  
Steve felt his heart turn over in his chest. He had known the truth for the past week, but now, looking at Tony's colorless face and hearing the way he was gasping for air, he wished that he had been wrong.   
  
"Tony," Hank said, voice low. "I knew it! What's wrong with him?"  
  
"I think it's his ribs," Steve forced out, the words sounding strangled to his own ears, "but I'm not sure."  
  
"Nay," Thor shook his head, his expression grave, "mark the blueness of his lips. It is his heart. When the debris from the explosion struck him in the chest it must have damaged it." He was reaching for Tony's hand now, wrenching the glove loose as he had the helmet. "See, his fingernails are also blue. I fear there may be naught we can do."  
  
"No." Steve fumbled at the fastenings of the armor's breastplate. "He's having trouble breathing. We need to get the rest of this thing off him." The weight of the armor couldn't be helping.  
  
He lifted the piece of armor away. It was surprisingly light for its size, no heavier than his shield.  
  
What was underneath was... Steve didn't know what it was. A circular piece of metal with a glowing blue core had been implanted in the center of Tony's chest, directly over his heart. The skin surrounding it was covered in a tracery of scaring, pink and raw-looking and obviously recent.  
  
 _"Something happened to me about a year ago,"_  Iron Man had told him, that first night in the library, when Steve had asked him why he was doing all of this.  _"I should have died, but I didn't."_  
  
Hank swore. "What do we do?" he asked, almost angrily. "I don't even know what that is."  
  
The...  _thing_  in Tony's chest glowed with the same blue light as the circular inset in the center of his armor's chestplate -- the one must be designed to hook into the other, somehow -- but where the one in the armor usually glowed brightly, this one was faint and flickering, like a flashlight with a nearly-dead battery.  
  
Steve didn't know what the little device was doing, but he had a sickening feeling that if it ran down completely, it would be very bad thing.  
  
He had thought, initially, that the reason Iron Man never took his armor off was because it was the only thing keeping him alive. He had rejected that theory when he realized that Iron Man had to be Tony Stark, who clearly could take the armor off any time he wanted to; it looked like he had been right after all.  
  
Sometimes, Steve hated being right.  
  
"He kept saying he needed to recharge." Jan was leaning forward over Tony's chest, staring intently at the metal device and biting at her lower lip. "Maybe he meant that thing." She poked the edge of the metal ring with one finger, tentatively, as if touching it might damage it or cause it to explode.  
  
"Recharge," Steve repeated. "Right! How do we recharge it?" He wasn’t going to just sit back and watch a teammate die, not when there was a chance he could do anything to prevent it.  
  
Tony's breathing was coming in irregular gasps now; he wasn't going to last much longer like this. He almost looked dead already, skin washed-out and cool to the touch. He was going into shock; Steve had seen it happen to men before when they were badly wounded, more often than he cared to think about. "How do we recharge it?" he demanded, aware that he sounded slightly panicked. Tony was dying because he had some kind of robotic  _thing_  is his chest that was supposed to be keeping him alive somehow and now wasn't anymore and Steve didn't know what it was or how it worked or what he was supposed to do to fix it.  
  
"We need to get him to a power source," Hank said, looking up from Tony's body to glance around the room. "With all this equipment there's got to be one here somewhere."  
  
"What if it needs be a certain kind of power?" Thor was gripping his hammer in both hands, its head resting on the floor between his knees. He looked as worried as the rest of them. Steve wasn't sure he'd even seen Thor look afraid before. "The wrong kind may do more harm than good."  
  
"He's dying anyway," Steve said harshly. "We don't have a choice."  
  
Hank was examining the discarded chestplate now, running his fingers over the circuitry inside. "This slots over that and the power couplings link together," he said. "I think I can run a charge into the armor's power core here," he brushed his fingers across the dead circular panel in the chestplate's front, "and it should feed back into the device in his chest. That, or electrocute him. There's a lot of damage here and I've never seen anything like this circuitry before." He shook his head. "It's like a transistor, a computer chip, a car battery, and a set of Tesla coils had an orgy. I wish Reed Richards were here. I'm a biochemist, not a rocket scientist; this is way out of my field."  
  
"Enough talking," Steve snapped. "Do it."  
  
Thor carried Tony over to the far wall, where the command center's main adaptor and circuit board was, and laid him down gently on the floor. His head lolled sideways, cheek resting against the concrete. Steve wished they had something to put under him, a blanket or something. The floor was cold, and Tony was already going into shock.  
  
It seemed to take forever for Hank to re-attach the breastplate and hook it into the main power outlet with one of the computers' power cords.  
  
Steve was braced for failure, half-expecting it to do nothing and half-expecting Tony to go into violent convulsions, arching up off the floor as the current went through him.  
  
At first, it seemed like nothing was happening, but after an endless minute, the armor's power core flickered back to life and began to glow steadily once more, gradually brightening to something like half its usual radiance.   
  
As the light grew brighter, Tony's barely audible breathing strengthened, evening back out into a normal rhythm.  
  
Steve sighed, then drew in a long breath; suddenly realizing that he'd been unconsciously matching his breathing to Tony's. He was almost afraid to let himself feel relief. It seemed like every time he did, some new, unexpected disaster was waiting for them.  
  
Now there was nothing to do but wait, and hope that no other disaster befell them before Nick's people could get there.


	4. Chapter 4

His chest hurt, the sharp knifing pain that meant the shards of shrapnel had been moving again. It was a distant pain now, though, which meant that the chest device was working again and this particular round of near heart failure was on its way to becoming a memory.  
  
Sound was patchy and hollow, fading in and out.  
  
"I think he's waking up." A woman's voice. Pepper? Pepper didn't know; only Happy knew. Had he passed out in the office again?  
  
"See, I told you I didn't electrocute him."  
  
Tony kept his eyes closed, feeling the familiar dizzy weakness that meant he had run out of power again. The claustrophobic feeling of his heart struggling to beat properly was gone, though. He'd be fine as soon as he got enough oxygen back into his blood.  
  
He drew in a deep breath, willing himself not to be sick. He was lying on a smooth concrete floor -- he could feel the cool hardness of it under his left hand.  
  
Tony rolled his head sideways, gently in case moving was going to make something else hurt, and rested the side of his face against the concrete. The chill that seeped into his skin gave him something to focus on, helped him push back the dizziness.  
  
"Iron Man, are you well?"  
  
That was Thor's voice, booming over him. Thor had the kind of voice made to carry through blizzards and across ancient battlefields, and whispering was not something he did well.  
  
Thor. So, he hadn't passed out in the office then.   
  
Then the meaning of the cool concrete against his bare cheek finally penetrated.   
  
Tony opened his eyes to find himself the focus of a semicircle of his fellow Avengers, all of them staring at him intently. Steve was the closest, bent over Tony so that he found himself looking straight up into concerned blue eyes.  
  
Steve was frowning, his blond eyebrows peeking through the edge of the mask's eyeholes. He looked upset, something almost like pain on his face. Tony hoped Zemo hadn't gotten away in the confusion.  
  
"So," he said, trying to sound as casual as one could sound while lying on the floor with a power cord plugged into one's chest, "my secret identity's been completely blown to hell, hasn't it?"  
  
"Why didn't you tell us you were compromised?" Steve demanded, and Tony closed his eyes again at the anger in his voice. Steve had probably never lied to anyone in his life, and Tony had been lying to him, both as Tony Stark and as Iron Man, ever since they'd met.  
  
He'd been lying to everyone since the day he first put on the armor, but most people didn't know either Iron Man or Tony Stark well enough for it to matter. The Avengers were different, though. Like Happy, like Pepper, they had deserved to know the truth, especially Steve, whom he had become friends with both as Iron Man and as Tony. And like with Pepper, he hadn't told them.  
  
"I should have had an hour's worth of power left," he said, instead of the apology he really ought to have offered. "The damage to the armor's power system must have accelerated the drain on my chest device."   
  
The dizziness was fading now, leaving behind a dull headache in its place. Tony rolled onto his side stared to push himself up onto one elbow.  
  
Thor placed one massive hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently but firmly back down. "Your heart may be damaged. You should lie down and rest."  
  
May be damaged? Tony let out a sort of half-laughing noise before he could stop himself. "It's fine as long as this keeps working," he said, tapping the chest device lightly with one finger. "I'm only in trouble if the charge runs dry."  
  
The others were still staring at him, or, more precisely, at his chest. He didn't want to have to tell the whole sorry story - being blown up by your own landmine and getting kidnapped by terrorists, and only escaping because another, better man died in your place wasn't the stuff of heroism by any definition. Steve had respected him, or had respected Iron Man at least, and a small, selfish part of Tony didn't want that respect to end.  
  
"What, um, what is it?" Steve asked, looking away and coloring faintly, as embarrassed that he'd asked.  
  
"A very fancy electromagnet," Tony said flatly. He glanced around, taking in the other Avengers hovering around him. "Where's Zemo?" he asked. "He didn't get away, did he?" After all they had gone through to capture him...  
  
"He's tied up," Jan said, "remember?" She nodded over her shoulder, and Tony, following her gaze, saw Heinrich Zemo tied securely to a chair on the opposite side of the room. The chair was facing away from them, but,  
  
"Did he see me?" That would be all he needed. He'd managed to keep Iron Man's identity hidden for over a year, but during that time he'd made enough superhuman enemies that the idea of someone knowing whose face was under Old Shellhead's helmet was not something he wanted to contemplate.  
  
Hammer had nearly destroyed Tony Stark and Iron Man both, and that was without knowing that they were one and the same.  
  
Hank frowned, shaking his head slightly. "I don't think so. But I, ah, said your name when I saw you with the helmet off. Sorry. If it helps, it was just your first name."  
  
Tony relaxed slightly. He might have gotten lucky just this once; Zemo had more important things to think about right now that Iron Man's identity, like what was going to happen at his war crimes trial.  
  
"So did we figure out what we're going to do with him now that we've got him?" He paused, then added, "Not to mention how we're getting out of here."  
  
Steve frowned, and gave Tony a long, evaluating look. "You contacted SHIELD with Zemo's communications equipment. Nick's sending a team to extract us and taking Zemo into custody."  
  
Which would explain why he'd been so sure Zemo was going to face a trial. "Oh," Tony said. "That was a good idea."  
  
Steve's frown deepened, eyebrows drawing together and jaw tightening. "Thor's right; you should rest some more," he said. It was not a suggestion. "Thor, can you keep an eye on our prisoner? I wouldn't put it past him to figure out some way to get himself untied; Zemo was always resourceful."  
  
Thor nodded solemnly, and stood, bracing his hammer against the floor and levering himself up with it. He was, Tony noted looking up at him, incredibly tall from this perspective. "I shall guard him closely. He may have escaped justice once before, but he shall not do so this time." He nodded at the room's still-open door. "Someone should stand guard over the doors at the end of the hall, lest Zemo's men find a way around the fortifications, as we did."  
  
"I'll go." Jan climbed to her feet, then shrank down and took to the air. "I can bring a warning more quickly than any of the rest of you."  
  
"I'll go too." Hank was already standing. He, too, seemed to loom over Tony, not just because Tony was flat on his back, but because he was still at least a foot taller than his normal height, possibly more.  
  
And then they were gone, and Tony was alone with Steve. Well, unless you counted the Nazi tied up in the corner, and the large Asgardian guarding him. Thor and Zemo were out of earshot, however, and that was almost like being alone.  
  
Tony sat up, concealing a wince as something in his chest twinged. It was probably just a bruise from being hit by flying debris, nothing to worry about. He let himself sag forward, resting his head in his hands, fingers tangling in his hair, which was still sweaty and tangled from his helmet. Where was his helmet, anyway?  
  
He glanced around, looking for it, but before he could voice the question, Steve was holding it out to him.  
  
"I don't think Zemo's seen you yet, but that's no reason to take chances." He stared at Tony as he spoke, expression serious. It felt as if he were looking straight through Tony, through the armor and the expensive haircut and all of the confidence and composure he'd learned to project over the past year to the fucked-up wreck Tony was underneath them. If he looked long and hard enough, Tony knew, he'd figure out that Tony wasn't really a hero at all; just a rich guy with some fancy toys who would never be able to fix even half the damage his company and his weapons had done before he'd gotten his explosives-assisted wake-up call. A hero would have found a way to save Yinsen, would have never allowed himself to be manipulated into killing Sergio, wouldn't need a nightcap every evening just to be able to sleep.  
  
"And speaking of taking chances," Steve began.   
  
Tony took his helmet from Steve's hands without meeting his eyes, not putting it on, just holding it. Even just having it in his hands made him feel better.   
  
"I'm not going to point out that could have died, because I'm sure you know that." Steve's voice was perfectly calm, even soft, probably in deference to the fact that Zemo was less than twenty feet away. Tony could hear the contained anger in it anyway. "You should have told the rest of the team that you were injured." He was still staring down at Tony with the piercing blue gaze, arms folded across his chest and jaw set, silently evaluating him and finding him wanting. Tony found himself looking away, down at the dully reflective gold surface of his helmet, unable to meet Steve's eyes.  
  
"The rest of us need to know what kind of condition you're in," Steve went on. "When you're hurt, I need to know about it so I can plan around it."  
  
"The armor can compensate for that kind of thing most of the time." His heart might be damaged, but as long as he had the chest device and the armor, none of it mattered. He could have been paralyzed or even have lost limbs in Afghanistan, and in the armor, still been stronger and tougher than a normal human. Physical strength wasn't necessary; the circuitry and power-assisted hydraulics did all the heavy lifting.  
  
"Except when it's broken," Steve said dryly. He sighed, and seemed to deflate slightly. "Tell me this is first time this has happened. You can't, can you?"  
  
"The first time the armor's been damaged this way, or the first time I've run out of power?" Tony asked, trying to prolong the moment when he'd have to either lie or admit the answer was 'no, I can't.'  
  
Steve shook his head. "Look, Iron Man, I..." He took a deep breath, as if stealing himself against something, and then he dropped to one knee beside Tony, so that their faces were closer to the same level.  
  
Startled, Tony looked up again, and found himself staring directly into Steve's eyes once again. They were very blue, framed by lashes so blond they were almost transparent. Steve had been so focused and business-like through-out most of this fiasco that Tony had been reminded once more of something that he'd almost forgotten over the past few weeks -- Steve Rogers was a soldier, created as a symbol and trained to be a weapon. Tony had experience with war zones, some of it from a much closer perspective than he would have preferred, but Steve had spent over four years on the front lines of World War II. He might be the same age as the rest of them, but he had a hell of a lot more experience.  
  
Right now, though, even with the mask on and the edges of the shield peeking up over his shoulders, he looked like the same ordinary, earnest, slightly awkward guy Tony drank coffee with in the mornings and talked to about books and old radio shows. Like someone attainable, not an untouchable living legend, but someone he could be friends with.  
  
"Tony," Steve said, his voice low, rough, almost hoarse, "you scared the hell out of all of us. Please don't do it again."  
  
Message received and understood. "You have my word," he said. "I won't let my health problems interfere with the team again." A worried Steve Rogers was almost worse than an angry Captain America; Tony didn't want or need pity, didn't need to be treated like an invalid, and Steve had enough worries of his own without Tony adding to them.  
  
"Good," Steve said.  
  
Tony offered Steve a smile, and then settled his helmet back over his head. The helmet was designed to seal seamlessly with the neck of the armor, making it completely airtight. Before he'd passed out, it had been in perfect working order. Now, it barely fit into place, the edges completely refusing to meet in several places.   
  
Tony felt carefully around the seam, finding three places where parts of the helmet's edges were bent and one point where the metal was actually torn. "What did you do to my helmet?" he demanded. He knew it made him sound like an ungrateful bastard, since the Avengers almost certainly saved his life, but they had _broken_ his _helmet_. That shouldn't even have been possible, given the alloy the helmet was made of and the level of structural strength Tony had built into it.  
  
"We couldn't get it off." Steve shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand and looking almost embarrassed. "Thor had to rip it off you."  
  
"You're not _supposed_ to be able to take it off." Tony had specifically designed the armor that way, to make sure that he was the only one who could remove the helmet, and that it wouldn't get torn off during a fight.  
  
If Thor had been able to pull it off by main force, than it clearly needed a redesign.  
  
"How far away is the SHIELD team?" Tony asked, giving up on any hope of getting helmet to seal properly and reaching for his discarded gauntlet.  
  
"They should be about seven hours out by now." Steve reached down and took Tony by the wrist, pulling him to his feet. Considering that the armor added thirty-two point one pounds to Tony's weight, it was impressive how easily Steve was able to haul him upright.  
  
Then again, Steve had at least forty pounds of muscle on Tony, so maybe it wasn't that impressive. Beyond the fact that that much sculpted muscle was the kind of thing you normally only saw on statues of Greek athletes. Of course, the Greeks being the brilliant and advanced civilization that they were, those statues generally wore considerably less clothing than Steve.  
  
Not that Steve's costume left much to the imagination, either, especially when Tony was sitting and he was standing with his crotch pretty much at eye level. Looking and appreciating was unavoidable.  
  
Tony braced himself against the momentary dizziness of suddenly being upright, waving away Steve's concerned frown. "We'll have to keep an eye on Zemo the whole time. We can set up teams to rotate between him and the door."  
  
"I can bring the security system back online." Tony nodded at the nearest of the consoles. "Then we'll have the outside cameras, too."  
  
"Good," Jan's voice came from behind him. "I was just about to ask you about that."  
  
Tony turned to see Jan hovering in the air a few feet behind himself and Steve, wings beating furiously. Now that the red glare of the warning lights were gone, her red and black costume looked garishly bright in the bunker's fluorescent lighting.  
  
"Any problems at the door?" Steve asked, his body going tense. He was reached back for his shield when Jan forestalled him.  
  
"No, nothing yet. Hank just remembered that we've got a state of the art electronic security and surveillance set-up at our disposal if Tony can undo what he did to it." She turned back to Tony. "It's good to see you on your feet."  
  
"Maybe we can avoid using my name in front of our prisoner?" Tony suggested. Being addressed by name while he was wearing the armor made him feel oddly exposed, but he couldn't exactly ask them all to pretend they still didn't know who he was, particularly given how they'd found out.  
  
"If it helps," she offered, "Hank and I already knew."  
  
"You knew?" Tony blurted out. He thought back quickly over the last few months, trying to remember every interaction between Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers, anything that might have given him away.  
  
Jan raised her eyebrows. "Remember the Thanksgiving party six years ago where you taught Norman Osborn's kid and his weird little friend how to turn a microwave oven into a bomb?"  
  
"Jarvis wanted a new microwave anyway." Tony grinned at the memory; that had been one of the more entertaining holiday parties his parents had hosted. For all that he'd initially cringed at getting stuck at the "kids table," when he was already a college student, Harry, Felicia, and the others had turned out to be better company than most of the adult businessmen he was usually stuck sitting with at dinner parties these days. Also, the microwave had actually left a small crater in the Mansion's back yard.  
  
While Jarvis had in fact wanted a new microwave, he'd been significantly less understanding about that.  
  
"Or back when we were nine and you hacked into the Osborns' security system and rigged it to go off every time a new guest arrived at their house?"  
  
"Come on, that one was legitimately brilliant." They had had to call the alarm company and bring in two different computer experts in order to undo what Tony had done. He'd been particularly proud of himself over that. His father had figured out it was him, of course.  
  
That was one of the things that had finally prompted Tony to decide that not all parental attention was good attention. Being ignored would have been better than being sent back to boarding school a week early.   
  
Steve lips twitched. "It sounds like there's all kinds of important things about you I don't know. I pity your parents."  
  
"And the fact that I was a horrible kid convinced you that I was Iron Man how?" Tony asked Jan, ignoring Steve's amused little smile.  
  
Jan grinned. "Because I knew there was absolutely no way you'd be able to build something like the armor and not have to try it out yourself. That race car accident you were in last year was all over the news for a week."  
  
"And you told Hank?"  
  
"Hank figured it out for himself the first time Iron Man called him 'Highpockets.'" She smirked at him, and bobbed slightly in the air. "Tip for the future. If you want to keep people in the dark, don't use the same stupid nicknames for them in and out of costume."  
  
This from the woman who called Hank "Blue Eyes." "I'll keep that in mind," Tony said.  
  
"When I was teaching you unarmed combat," Steve said conversationally, "you tried to use the repulsor gauntlets you weren't wearing on me."  
  
And it looked like there were some things Tony didn't know about Steve, either, because it had never occurred to him that Steve was capable of that kind of cheerful bastard smirk.  
  
He was going to have to be watch himself around Steve now. He had lost the safe barrier of being somebody else, now that there was no longer the distance imposed by a secret identity between them. Steve was the closest thing to a real friend he'd made since he'd met Happy and Rhodey, maybe even closer -- he'd found himself telling Steve things he wouldn't have admitted to Rhodey even under the influence of considerable amounts of alcohol -- but a friend was all Tony could afford to think of him as. Too much eyeing Steve's muscles and ass and thinking about how sexy that smirk looked on him could only lead to trouble.  
  
  


***

 

It had been sixty years since he'd last been in one, the insides of military transport planes hadn't changed as much as Steve had expected. Steve often found himself wishing that certain things were still the way they'd been in 1945, but metal and canvass fold-down seats weren't one of them. Neither was sitting in an un-pressurized cargo bay listening to engine noise. For one thing, the plane didn't have any heat, and while it might be over ninety degrees in the jungle far below, it was significantly colder at 8,000 feet.

Hank and Jan were sitting up front, close to the SHIELD pilots. Jan's head was resting on  
Hank's shoulder, and he had an arm around her. Hank had started to make some comment about the cold, and Jan had smiled and rolled her eyes before snuggling up to him. The two of them were talking quietly, but Steve couldn't hear them over the drone of the engine.

Thor was sitting on the floor of the plane, across from Steve. He was too tall to fit comfortably in the seats; Steve sympathized, since his own seat was very much not designed for someone over six feet. Thor looked tired, something Steve had never seen before -- he actually had his eyes closed, not actually asleep, but dozing, his head tilted back against the wall. There were a scattering of small burns across his face and arms from the anti-tank missile, but Steve would bet it was the Enchantress's frog that had left him looking so worn out.

There was a little satisfied smile on his face, though. He obviously counted the mission as a complete success.

Steve, looking around the plane at his assembled team, wasn't so sure.

Tony was completely limp in the seat beside him, in a way that suggested either unconsciousness or deep sleep. In the armor, with the helmet on, Steve couldn't even see him breathing. It was a detail he'd never noticed before, but now, with Tony so still and silent, he was finding it particularly disturbing.

Tony had stayed on his feet until the SHIELD team had gotten there, but as soon as they were airborne, he'd sacked out in one of the seats, looking like a robot that had had its power turned off. Which, come to think of it, was a more apt comparison than Steve liked.

He had defeated Zemo, but it had nearly cost him his team.

It had been stupid to come down here, he knew. They had had no plan, no intelligence on their target's defenses, and no real idea what they were going to do if they actually won. Nick had bailed them out in more ways than one. They all could have ended up in very serious trouble over this if he hadn't come through with his SHIELD team and Vespugian rebels.

Destroying Zemo had been justice, but it had also been vengeance, and it had been incredibly irresponsible of Steve to let the Avengers get involved in it without any preparation. He had taken off on the spur of the moment, letting his personal grievances against Zemo overwhelm his common sense. It wasn't a mistake he would make a second time.

Next time a situation like this arose, if one ever did, Steve would have a plan. He would use the resources available to him -- Tony & Hank's knowledge, Jan's common sense, Thor's battle experience, even Nick's SHIELD contacts if necessary -- to make sure they had the best chances for victory he could buy them.

He wasn't fighting a war any longer, but that was no excuse to get lazy. What they did wasn't a game, and shouldn't be treated as such. It was too important for that, and the stakes were too high.

Still, despite all that, he couldn't help but feel a vast relief that Zemo was gone.

Now he only had to worry about his past haunting him figuratively, rather than literally. Nightmares, Steve could handle. Vespugian assassins coming after his team were much harder to shrug off.

He wished Tony wasn't wearing the helmet, that he could see his face. He needed the sleep, Steve knew, but it would have been easier to keep an eye on him if Steve could actually see him.

At least Jan and Hank were still in one piece.

Once they got back to New York, Steve decided, he was going to call up that doctor friend of Thor's and get him to come take a look at Tony. Maybe at Thor, too, though there probably wasn't much a human doctor could do for an Asgardian god.

"You should be proud, my friend," Thor said softly, his eyes still closed. "You have proven to be a wise leader in battle. And your enemy has been soundly vanquished."

"Trust me," Steve said, and he found himself smiling as he said it, "I'll sleep better knowing he's taken care of. I should thank you, and the others. I would never have been able to pull this off on my own."

"You need not thank us." Thor opened his eyes, frowning slightly now. "No debts are owed between friends."

"Well, thanks all the same," Steve said. He could feel his face heating, and was glad the mask hid it. "If you'd let me take off on my own..." He shook his head. "I'm lucky to be an Avenger. I still owe you guys for letting me join your team in the first place." It had been the best thing that could have happened to him, he knew that. He couldn't even imagine what it would have been like to try and adjust to this new time on his own, if he'd had to try and find a place for himself in normal, civilian life.

Zemo had destroyed Steve's old life, but he had built new one for himself now, with the Avengers. With Zemo dealt with and Bucky's death avenged, maybe it was time to start putting the past behind him, to let himself move forward.

He was living in the future now, after all. It was time he started to plan for one.

 

~End~


End file.
